Hudson

Chapter Twenty-Six

On Wednesday, Mirabelle stops by my office. I’ve cancelled most of my non-urgent appointments, so I’m available to see her. I ask Patricia to send her back.

My sister’s face is serious. I know it’s not her health—she would have called if there were any new threats to her or the baby. I have to assume she’s here about Alayna.

“I’m guessing you’ve talked to her,” I say as she settles into the armchair in my seating area.

Her brow furrows. “Talked to who? Mom?”

“No, I meant Alayna.” I grab a bottle of water from my mini-fridge and hand it to her before taking a seat on the couch. “Aren’t you here about her?”

“I am now.” Her eyes narrow mischievously. “What’s going on?”

I’ll have to tell her eventually. But I don’t know if I can talk about it. Not yet. I scrub my hand over my face. “Forget I said anything.”

“Uh, that’s not happening.” She leans forward and places her hand on my knee. “Hudson?” I shake my head, but, as always, she reads me. “Oh, God. What happened? Tell me.”

“She…” I take a deep breath in and blow it out before I can go on. “She left me, Mirabelle.”

“No way.” She studies me. “You’re serious.”

How I wish I wasn’t. “I told her everything she wanted to know, and she left me.” It’s no easier saying it this time than it was a moment ago. My voice catches on the words. Not only am I now able to feel, but it also appears that I’m unable to keep my feelings hidden.

“I’m sure you’re overreacting. People fight. You’ll get past this.”

I don’t want to argue with her. I’d rather let her hope for the best. I’m still hoping, after all. So I simply say, “Anything’s possible, I suppose.”

“But you don’t really believe that.” She tilts her head and stares at me with sympathetic eyes. “Oh, Hudson, what happened? Maybe I can help.”

I know she can’t help, and that’s why I don’t intend to tell her. But then I remember what Dr. Alberts said about opening up to those close to me. To see progression in my therapy, I have to work for it. And I want to see progression. I don’t know if there’s any chance at all that Alayna and I can be together again, but if there is, I know that I need to be the best man possible. The best me possible.

So, for the second time in two days, I tell the story. It’s harder to share with Mirabelle. She doesn’t hide the disappointment in her features. She frequently brushes tears from her eyes, but she listens without interrupting.

When I’m finished, she lets out a breathy sigh. Then she says, “Fuck you, Hudson.”

I’m surprised—not because I don’t deserve the cursing, but because I didn’t expect it. Not from her.

“I love you. I really do.” Her voice is heavy with emotion. “And I’m always going to be here for you, but you really fucked up this time. And if you don’t recognize that, then there’s no hope for you.”

I bow my head. I can’t look at her anymore. Her disapproval hurts almost as much as Alayna’s. “I recognize it. Fully.”

She won’t look at me. “That’s something at least.”

“It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done.”

“I don’t doubt it.” There’s a bite to her words. They’re pointed and sharp. They leave marks on me.

I always thought of myself as well-armored. Nothing could get in. And now when I really look, I see the scars. Feel their jagged edges across every inch of my body. Can everyone see them? Can Mirabelle?

I’m broken and mangled, but it’s suddenly important to me that she knows I’m trying to stand again. “Losing her, Mirabelle, it’s…it’s hitting bottom. I’m seeing Dr. Alberts again. I tried to change when you sent me before, but now—now I want it.”

Finally, she looks at me. There’s an edge of kindness in her gaze and a pinch of pity. “I’m glad to hear that, Hudson. I really am. I only want the best for you. And I sincerely believe you can be a different man if you want to be.”

“I do.” I want it retrospectively. Why couldn’t I have been a different man before I met Alayna? If I’d tried harder to change before, then could I have been ready to meet her as my best self?

It’s hopeless to dwell on what-ifs. Yet they sneak in anyway. I let my head fall back and close my eyes.

Mirabelle moves to sit next to me. Without saying a word, she runs her fingers through my hair. It’s soothing. Hypnotic.

I swallow past the tight ball in my throat. “I fucked up, but I genuinely love her.”

“I know.” Her voice is gentle now. “She’s not the only reason you want to change, is she?”

“Possibly.” It’s not the right answer, but it’s the truth.

Mirabelle’s hand only pauses for a half-second before resuming her calming strokes across my scalp. “Because I don’t know that you can win her back. This is…it’s bad, Hudson. There may be no moving on from this.”

I force a laugh. “The queen of love-conquers-all has doubts? Man, I’m really fucked.”

“I’m just being honest.” She leans her head against my shoulder. “And I want you better with or without her.”

I can’t imagine a without her. Even while we’re apart, she’s still so present in my life. I know what Mirabelle means, but I simply can’t let myself think like that. “It won’t be a problem. I won’t ever stop loving Alayna. I need to be ready in case she ever changes her mind.” When she changes her mind.

“Hudson. I’m so mad at you.” Mirabelle sits up and punches her fist into my chest. It’s a heavy enough hit, though I barely feel it through the pain that already encompasses me. I wish she’d hit me again, actually. Wish she’d beat me to a pulp.

She doesn’t. Instead, she lays her palm flat against me and lays her head back on my shoulder. “And I’m so heartbroken. For both of you. I love that girl too, you know.”

“I know.” I’m not usually the type to cuddle up with my little sister, but I don’t know who I am “usually” anymore. So I wrap my arm around her tiny frame and pull her in closer. We sit like this, both of us mourning our loss.

Then she bolts up. “Ah, shit! My opening! Laynie’s supposed to be a model. She’ll probably back out now.”

“If I’m there, yes, I’d bet she does cancel.” I’d thought about this. There’s nothing I haven’t thought about regarding Alayna. But my next words are not premeditated. “I won’t come.”

Mirabelle looks at me, seeming to gauge my seriousness. When she realizes that I’m completely genuine, she says, “I know I should try to argue, but honestly? I don’t want to. Don’t hate me.”

“I understand. She’s your model. You need her. I know she wants to be there for you. So please, let me back out.” I also hope it’s something that will get Alayna out of her shell. Something that will remind her how to keep living. It’s not about Celia winning or losing anymore—Alayna has to survive because I will not be the person who destroyed her.

“Okay. I’ll let you back out. You’re banned from the premises on Saturday.” The gleam in her eyes says she understands the entirety of my motivation. “I mean it though. You can’t change your mind and show up.”

“I won’t. Scout’s honor.” Like I was ever a scout. Like I ever had honor.

I reach up to erase the smudge her earlier tears have left under her eye. I’m suddenly moved by this beautiful creature. Besides Alayna, she’s the one person who has been able to see something more in me than what I put on display. And I’m pretty sure I’ve never told her as much.

So I tell her now. “I could never hate you, Mirabelle. I love you. I want you to be happy. I want you to be proud to be my sister. As proud as I am to be your brother. You’ve often been the only support I’ve had. The only one who’s believed in me. I hate that you’re looking at me now with disappointment.”

Her eyes well, but she smiles. “I’m disappointed, Hudson. I am. But it doesn’t mean I’m not proud to be your sister. I love you, too. Don’t give up on her. More importantly, don’t give up on yourself. I never will.”

She hugs me, and I let her.

For a few minutes, anyway. I’m the one who pushes out of her embrace. It feels too good, and feeling good is not on my agenda. My mind wanders back to the person it never really leaves. “Alayna might still back out of the opening, you know. Even without me there.”

“I know.” Her tone says she’s not concerned. If anyone can convince Alayna otherwise, it’s Mirabelle. “I’m going to think optimistically. And I’m going to be optimistic about the two of you too. I don’t think I’ll let her know that I know what happened. She could be really embarrassed about this. Maybe she’ll feel more comfortable if she isn’t worried about what I think about it all.”

“That’s insightful.” I hadn’t even considered she might be humiliated. But of course she is. She’d been duped by an asshole. “I’ll support however you want to play it.”

I cringe at my choice of words. “I’ll support whatever you say, I mean.”

She catches my correction. With a sad smile, she reaches up to tousle my hair. “You’re a good guy, Hudson. You did a really shitty thing, but you’re still a really good guy.” A tear slips down her cheek. She wipes at it with zest. “God, I have to get out of here. I’m too hormonal for this crap.”

“You’re fine.” I stand though and help her up beside me. Then I remember, “But was there another reason you came by?”

“Oh yeah. There was. There is. I’m telling you—hormone-brain is crazy.” She shifts her weight onto one leg and bites at her lip. “Anyway, I hate to bring this up after all that you’re going through, but there’s something important, and I need your help.”

I hate that she’s nervous about asking. Doesn’t she know I’d do almost anything for her? “Of course. What is it?”

“It’s Mom. She’s in trouble.”

Now I understand her hesitancy. “She’s been in trouble for a long time.” Longer than any of us.

Mirabelle nods. “And we haven’t been there for her. It’s time that we are.”

“Are you staging another intervention?” The look on her face answers the question for me. “Ah, you are.”

“You think it’s stupid?”

I’m surprised we’ve never discussed this before. All these years we’ve just let Sophia live as though her drinking wasn’t a big deal. As though it was normal. Because we’d never known her any other way, it actually was normal. It was the normal we knew, anyway.

But we’d grown up. Somewhere along the way, we realized that her behavior wasn’t healthy or sane. And still we’d done nothing.

Mirabelle’s right when she says it’s time we did something. “It’s not at all stupid,” I say. “It’s beautiful.”

Hope shines in her eyes. “Really, you think so?”

“I do.

“Thank you. That’s really a relief.” It shows. Her shoulders relax, and she stops nipping at her bottom lip.

Once again, Mirabelle moves me. I draw her into a hug. “I don’t know how you ended up surrounded by such broken and battered souls. We don’t deserve you. But I honestly believe none of us would have made it as far as we have if it hadn’t been for you holding us together. You’re our glue. You’re my glue.”

Jesus, when did I develop such diarrhea of the mouth?

Mirabelle nudges me with her elbow. “That was awfully poetic, Hudson. I’d say I didn’t know you had it in you, but that would be a lie. There’s hope for you yet.”

I’m not sure that’s true. But wouldn’t it be wonderful if it were?

That night, the weight of it all hits me. I’m in the loft, sitting on the couch in the dark, when pain rips through my chest like a bulldozer running me down. There isn’t a part of me that doesn’t ache—my hands, my feet. My head throbs. Blood rushes in my ears. My heart pounds as if it’s going to burst from my chest. It bends me over, stealing my breath. I gasp for air in huge gulps that are half-sobs.

It’s a death. The ending of what was, and the painful rebirth that follows. I wrap my arms around myself, my fingernails digging into my ribcage, clutching on as if I can hold to where I was. I will the world to stop spinning around me. I break out in a sweat. I cry the only name that gives me comfort. Her name. Over and over.

I don’t want to go through this. I don’t want to be without her. I don’t want to miss her like I do, longing for her taste, her touch, her sounds. I don’t want to be reborn in this new world, a world that means nothing in her absence.

I don’t want to be in this life without her.

The next morning, I’m met with a text on my phone. I hold my breath, hoping it’s from Alayna. It’s not, but the message motivates me to get out of bed anyway. It’s from Norma. All the papers are in place. I’ll have them waiting on your desk when you get in.

Finally, I have what I need to get rid of Celia once and for all.

Seven hours later, I’m sitting on the armchair in the loft, swirling the ice in my empty glass of Scotch while Celia looks over the contracts for the business I’ve worked so hard to acquire. I’ve dragged this moment out, letting her argue and goad before presenting her with the facts. It’s the last game I ever plan on playing, and I want to enjoy it.

Except there isn’t any enjoyment in it. There’s no rush. There’s no thrill. Perhaps I’m too numb with sadness about Alayna, but I know that’s not it. I’ve lost the taste for the play. That’s all.

So as Celia reads, I silently say goodbye. Even through the ache, I feel a breath of peace.

I watch her as she flips through the pages. She takes her time. I’m sure some of the language is difficult for her to sift through, but I can tell when she understands. Her face goes white, and her breathing slows.

Finally, she asks, “How did you…?”

“Very sneakily.” I force myself to relish this moment. I did this for Alayna, and I wish she could witness it. I’m proud that I could do this for her, though she would never have needed this sort of protection if it weren’t for me in the first place. “I’ll admit, it wasn’t easy. I had to convince another company to purchase a portion of the stock, and then I bought out that company—you don’t really want the details, do you?”

She scowls. Every trace of humor has left her eyes.

“The contracts are signed now. That’s all that matters. I’m officially the majority owner of Werner Media Corporation.”

Celia’s lips tighten as she closes the file that contains the contracts. “And you said you’d quit playing the game.”

“I had one final move to make.” I wonder briefly if she really thinks that’s what all of this is for me—another game. She’d loved once upon a time. Doesn’t she remember?

A familiar stab of guilt strikes me, low and hard in the gut.

And then it’s gone.

It’s been so easy to blame myself for her choices. But sooner or later, we have to take responsibility for ourselves—just as Dr. Alberts said. I may have taught her this life, but she’s the one who chose to embrace it. Now, as I try to show her another way to live, she refuses to see it.

I’m not responsible for her. It’s the final snipping of the cord that bound us together. The last strand between us clipped, and now we’re both completely free.

Celia sees it too. She lets me go with a long, slow hiss of air. “It’s checkmate, is it then?”

“You tell me.” It’s almost admirable how she plays to the very end. Once upon a time, I would have been impressed. Now, I’m weary.

“What are your plans for Werner Media?”

This is a fair question. “At the moment, I have no plans. The company’s doing well as it is. Warren Werner is definitely the right man to be in charge. However, if there were any reason that I felt his presence was no longer needed…” I trail off, letting her fill in the blanks.

“He’d be devastated.” Her brows are pinched, and her usual stone-cold expression has been replaced with despondency.

I feel a flicker of relief. I’d gambled here. My entire plan only worked if Celia still had the capability to care for someone other than herself—namely, her father. It’s further proof that she’s only living like she’s heartless because she chooses to.

Though I don’t rule out that her concern may be monetary—I’ve been convinced for ages that Celia lives off her daddy’s wealth. And while he’d still have it even if I stole his title, it’s less likely he’d feel as generous. It’s well-known that a happy Warren is a sharing Warren.

“I imagine he’d be devastated just to learn he no longer holds controlling interest. For now, the fact is still hidden. He has no idea that he’s no longer in charge. Would you like that to change?”

“No,” she says.

“Do you plan on doing anything that might cause me to alter my current business plan?”

Her shoulders sag. “No.”

“Then yes, it’s checkmate.”

We sit silently for several minutes. It’s been a long battle. And this is the official end of our friendship. It deserves some mourning. Memories flip through my mind like a bunch of stills in a photo slideshow. Some are from so long ago, I can’t date them accurately. Others so imprinted in my soul I’ll never forget the details. Her winning backhand stroke in a game of tennis that had been so close. The bottle of champagne we opened at the end of our first successful play. Her hand on my back, and her soft, sincere confession—I love you.

This is all the time I’ll spend grieving for what we once were. It’s brief, but I let myself feel it.

Eventually, she stands. “I guess it’s time for me to go.”

“It is. I’ll walk you out.”

I check my watch as we cross the floor together. I need to leave for my parents’ in half an hour or so. Today is Mirabelle’s planned intervention. A day of hard words, I think. And hard emotions. It’s as if I can make up for a lifetime of non-feeling in just a few days’ time. It’s something I hope to never have to do again.

I open the door for Celia and hold it wide for her to cross past me. She doesn’t look at me as she does. Or I don’t look at her. I’m not sure which. I start to shut it behind her when my gaze hits something unexpected—a duffel bag on the floor. It’s Alayna’s. I’m sure of it.

Or is that wishful thinking?

No, it’s hers. I packed it for her on our trip to the Poconos. But what is it doing here?

A sudden burst of anticipation shoots through me, and I scan the room, hoping against all hopes that I’ll see what I so want to see.

I do.

My eyes lock on hers. She’s kneeling on the floor at the threshold to the bedroom. Her posture suggests that she’s not here to stay, that she didn’t want me to know she was even here at all—the duffel is misleading. Still, I’m elated. I’ve missed seeing her face, missed connecting with her even on such a base level.

I’m desperate to stay and talk to her. Eager to find out why she’s here. And, I realize suddenly, she’s seen the ending of me and Celia. I couldn’t have wished for her to witness anything else that might better prove my love for her.

But though I’m desperate and eager and so yearning to stay, I know that if I do, I’ll never get out of here in time for my mother. It’s an obligation I can’t ignore. Something I need to do before I can say my demons are slayed, and I’m able to be the man that Alayna might be able to call hers again.

I’m not the only one who’s not ready—she’s not ready either. I feel it deep in my soul. She needs more time to process, and rushing it will do me no good for the long-term.

So I have to hold on to this moment to get me through. Hold on to the love that still shines so clearly in her eyes and hope that it can eventually be enough.

“Hold the elevator,” I call after Celia without looking away from my precious Alayna. It’s always so hard to leave her. But right now, I’m feeling strong, and I shut the door behind me.

Celia’s waiting in the elevator holding the door open button. I step inside, and the door closes. We travel silently for several seconds before she says, “Well, this is awkward.”

Honestly, I’ve forgotten she is even there. I’m still back in the loft, my heart and my mind fixed on Alayna. I pull myself from there to the present. “Is it really? I haven’t ever lost this big. I wouldn’t know.” I blame my condescension on the rush from discovering our eavesdropper. But I may have been just as cocky had Alayna gone unseen.

Celia does not seem to appreciate it. “You’re an asshole.”

“It’s a fraction of what you deserve.” The smallest fraction, though, and I try not to dwell on the list of myriad worse things I could do to her. It’s satisfying to contemplate but more focused on the negative than I’d like to be.

Celia crosses her arms over her chest and eyes me. “You know, my father is going to retire someday. What will you have over me then?”

I roll my eyes. “Please. Your father’s going to work until he dies. I give him another twenty years, at least. If you’re still holding on to a revenge plot at that time…well, I don’t think you could call anything you do a win then. You aren’t that pathetic.”

A sideways glance at her says that maybe she is that pathetic. The idea of her still perpetuating this scheme against us years from now enrages me. I level my gaze at her and steel my voice. “But if you need further reason to drop this game, let me give one to you. I tied your hands legally. I’d prefer not to use other methods to stop you, but hear this—I’d kill for Alayna if it came down to it. Please don’t test me on that.”

She shrugs dismissively. “It was only a question. I didn’t mean anything by it. The game is over, and I’m bored with you both.” She purses her lips. “I certainly hypothesized incorrectly on this one, didn’t I? I’d never have pegged you for a hero.”

It’s a backhanded compliment, and it makes me smile inwardly. She’s not alone. I certainly never would have bet on me to fall in love.

But wait—why was she pegging me at all? “Who exactly was your subject on this experiment, Celia?”

The doors open, and she exits without answering. Stunned by my realization, I’m a few steps behind her. I’m not about to run her down, but I call after her again. “Celia?”

Surprisingly, she turns back. “What?”

I close the distance between us, my heart that had skipped a beat a moment before now racing. “You were never really playing Alayna, were you? It was me. You were playing me.”

The spark in her eyes say I’ve hit the nail on the head.

The pieces fit together suddenly: the reason why she was so reluctant to let this one go—Alayna was only the pawn. All along, Celia had been studying my emotions, my behavior. It was me that was the subject of her scheme.

It’s ridiculous that I haven’t seen this before, that I never expected it. Didn’t she owe this to me all along? I deserved her retaliation. Sleeping with my father was punishment, but it never equated to the kind of manipulation I’d put her through. This though—this does. Questions race through my mind. How many years has she planned this? Did she want me to fall in love? Or was her goal to prove I actually couldn’t? Did she want me to hurt, or just know how it felt to be deceived? Would she have played me if I hadn’t quit? Was this always her goal? Was our entire friendship really just a long game?

I’m blown away.

And impressed. And angry. Really angry.

And, also, the tiniest bit grateful. Celia is to credit for my relationship with Alayna, after all. I’m smart enough to know I would never have gone after the woman who enamored me if my old friend hadn’t pushed me to it.

It doesn’t redeem her. But it eases an ache of sorts. She’d always said I’d saved her by introducing her to my world—was that true or part of her scheme? Whether it was or not, now she’s saved me. She’s given me this life with Alayna.

Perhaps nobody won this game after all. Maybe we’re simply, finally, even.

She spins on her heels, leaving me reeling from my revelation. Of course, she delivers parting words, thrown flippantly over her shoulder. “Take care, Hudson. If you ever decide to rejoin the game, you know where to find me.”

My mind spins all the way to my parents’ place. After turning over my keys to the valet, I stand in the lobby and attempt to gather myself before going upstairs. It’s difficult to set aside the events of the afternoon, but I focus on Mirabelle and all I owe her. Then I step in the elevator and head up.

I’m the last one to arrive for this intervention, even though I’ve gotten here early. The whole family is present, as well as Adam. Madge Werner is here too. She must not blame my mother for Celia’s night with my father ten years ago, though she does carefully avoid any eye contact with Jack. She doesn’t seem to be too happy with me either. I suppose my participation in the lie is enough to make her dislike me. She’s uncomfortable, yet she’s still here in support of Sophia. It’s admirable.

It goes as well as any of these types of things can. There’s lots of crying, mostly from my mother, who sits on the sofa clutching Madge with silent tears streaming down her otherwise stone face. Everyone speaks. Chandler says he wants a mother he can bring a girlfriend home to. Adam talks a lot about the kind of environment he wants to raise his baby in. Madge reminisces about an earlier time in their friendship when neither of them touched alcohol.

Mirabelle gives the heaviest ultimatum. “Be sober or don’t be in my life.”

It’s after this that Sophia agrees to go to rehab. She’ll do anything for that grandchild.

But even with her acquiescence, there are two of us left to talk, and we will not be skipped. Jack goes first. “I know the man you married disappeared a long time ago with the woman you once were. If I’m asking you to be her again, then it’s only fair that I find him again as well. You’ve always been the love of my life, Sophia, even though the life I created for you—for us—was a shitty one. But, hell, we’re still young. There’s no reason we can’t start a better life together now.”

My mother doesn’t say a word, but she pats the cushion on the other side of her after Jack’s speech. He moves to her immediately and wraps her in his arms. It’s now that she crumbles, her face buried in his chest. Mirabelle and I exchange a stunned glance. We’ve never seen such affection between our parents. It’s quite moving.

I go last. Careful not to include Celia’s involvement—Madge is here, and this isn’t the place to unearth more secrets that aren’t mine—I share the nature of my relationship with Alayna. How I became involved with her. How I fell in love and betrayed her. It’s shocking and disappointing, and I can feel the anguish in the room grow heavier, and for a short second, I wonder how shocked and disappointed they would all feel to know that Celia had done the same to me.

God, I still can’t believe it.

But I can’t go there because then I have to reveal the whole story behind Celia and me, which is neither here nor there at the moment.

So I stick to Alayna.

It’s a short confession. This isn’t my intervention, after all, but my tale is relevant.

She doesn’t look at me, but I end directly addressing Sophia. “I no longer know what came first, Mother—your drinking or my emotional withdrawal. It’s like trying to answer the age-old question of the chicken or the egg. While blame is not important, I do know that our behaviors are directly correlated. That I’ve contributed to your addiction. That you’ve contributed to mine. With that in mind, I think that if I get well and you get well too, then both of us will have a better shot.”

My mother shifts, raising her eyes to mine.

I feel my throat tighten, but I talk through it. “We’ve both been hiding our flaws behind these crutches. It’s time we face them. I’m back in therapy. I don’t want to be that person anymore, and I vow that I’m going to change. For myself. For Alayna. For you. Will you change too? For all of us? For me? For you?”

It’s a simple nod that she gives, but it’s everything. We’ll never be able to repair our past. I know this. We will always be strained and awkward and, perhaps, even cruel toward one another. But we will forever have this one moment where I asked her for her love, and she gave it. It’s enough to last a lifetime.